The Laws of Unnatural Selection
by Mahiri Chuma
Summary: On an impromptu hunting trip, Glenn learns there might be more to their resident Dixon brother than they originally thought.
1. Lessons in Darwinism

The Laws of Unnatural Selection  
by Mahiri Chuma  
Rating: T  
Summary: On an impromptu hunting trip, Glenn learns there's more to their resident Dixon brother than they may have thought.  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to THE man, Kirkman and Mr. Darabont – I am wildly jealous.

* * *

The Laws of Unnatural Selection

* * *

"How long are you going to wait?" Glenn grumbled from behind the moss-covered log. They had been lying there, completely still, for what had to be hours – he couldn't be sure seeing that time had very little relevance nowadays.

"As long as it takes." Daryl answered from behind the sight of his crossbow, his tone bordering aggravation. "Now shut up."

"But it – it hasn't moved, it's right there." Glenn said in slight disbelief, his voice a harsh whisper. His eyes darted between Daryl and the large –huge- deer that was grazing quietly fifty feet from them. It didn't seem to notice them.

"Ya'll really don't know nothin' do you." Daryl glanced sideways at the young Asian.

The kid might have been a good tactician but he was proving to be a lousy hunter. He was fidgeting, asking too many questions … he had scoffed at the idea of anyone in the group besides his long gone brother accompanying him on a hunt, but he had to be realistic, he needed the help.

Food was becoming scarce as the winter months approached. Andrea and Dale were catching less and there was little to forage, not that anyone truly knew what was and wasn't edible.

As they drove further into the country, man-made resources became scarce; they hadn't found anything more than a few candy bars and half a dozen canned items during their last search and it was becoming clear, they needed to hunt.

Daryl had seen very few deer in the past weeks; the cold was driving them deeper into the forests and marshland and unless he could take a week or two to track them to their winter feeding grounds, he had to settle for the few that lingered on the borders near the roads.

They had pulled the camper over at a small camping ground in the North Hills and without a word Daryl had stalked off into the woods. No one questioned him as he disappeared into the dense foliage; they had gotten used to his impromptu solo scouting trips by now. Though Rick thought it was dangerous and terribly stupid, he didn't say anything. They needed the food.

Within the first hour of his patrol he had caught sight of a buck –too large to haul back to camp alone, over two hundred pounds and with a rack just under his arm span; a proper trophy buck.

He could take it down, that wouldn't be a problem, but hauling it back to camp …

He returned to camp, a hunting plan already playing in his mind, and informed Rick and Shane of his find. It hadn't taken much time before the camp was salivating at the prospect of fresh venison and a good two weeks worth of smoked jerky.

Upon hearing of the animal's size and Daryl's rather unexpected request for help, Glenn immediately volunteered.

He was a good scavenger, that much was true, but as they got further and further from the city, he was beginning to feel rather useless. It was clear that they all needed to brush up on their survival skills and if he could hunt he could provide for himself and the others. Not only would it be an incredibly skill it would ensure that someone besides Daryl could provide for them; it was no secret that no one fully trusted the man. Not yet.

Daryl had snorted in disbelief when Glenn had offered to come all to eagerly; he had looked him up and down with a smirk.

"You sure about that, kid? 'S hard work."

"I think I can handle it." And Glenn had been pretty sure he could. He had seen plenty of deer before and sure, they were quick, but they weren't all that large …

But then again, he had been wrong before. He swallowed heavily; it was huge, the biggest he'd ever seen. He didn't even want to know how the hell they were going to drag it back to camp.

The deer stepped forward, continuing to graze. Glenn truly didn't know what Daryl was waiting for and his whole body was beginning to ache from being in the same position for so long.

Daryl didn't seem to mind.

Unable to stand his throbbing arms any longer, Glenn shifted as quietly as he could manage – Daryl had already berated him for being to loud with a swift jab to bicep and he wasn't keen on receiving further punishment.

"If you don't stop movin' I'm gon' make you."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, I must've missed deer stalking 101." Glenn would never have said something even remotely sarcastic to the volatile Dixon brother had they not been hunting.

Daryl kept his eye on the deer, ignoring him completely as his muscles tensed in anticipation, his finger hovering carefully over the trigger.

Glenn couldn't believe it. Back at camp if you so much as looked at Daryl wrong a conflict was sure to arise. The Daryl they all knew and tolerated would throw punches without hesitation and seemed to attract conflict like bears to honey. He was always moving, and when Glenn thought about it, he had never seen Daryl still outside of sleep – he was always cleaning arrows, skinning an animal, building a fire, patrolling camp …

This Daryl was totally freaking him out.

"You gotta wait for it to let its guard down," Glenn glanced over as Daryl eyed the deer with the intensity of a longtime hunter, "if they sense you they'll be gone before you can take the shot."

Glenn listened, amazed that he was not only receiving a lesson from Daryl but that he was engaged and was intent on remembering his advice, storing it for later use.

The deer's head ducked down as it continued to graze and Daryl took in a slow breath.

Glenn's eyes darted between the hunter and his prey; he looked dangerous, very, very dangerous.

"The neck. You want to aim for the neck. Severe the arteries or the spine."

Daryl's finger closed over the trigger ever so slightly.

Glenn's stomach twisted in anticipation and he leaned forward, pushing himself closer to the log.

Something under his arm snapped and the deer's head shot up. Daryl pulled the trigger and Glenn's ears rang from the sharp twang of the bowstring as it propelled the deadly arrow forward.

He blinked – just blinked – and the deer was gone, leaves swirling where it had been standing moments before.

"Son of a bitch …"

"I'm sorry," Glenn sputtered as Daryl stood, his eyes fixed on the direction to which the deer had fled, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I knew bringing you along was a right mistake." Daryl yelled as he hastily pulled the crossbow string back.

Daryl cast him with a murderous glare and the irrational part of Glenn's brain was relieved because this was the Daryl he knew. The rational part had him moving backwards, hands up in submission, because he is pretty freaking sure Daryl is about to kill him.

Instead Daryl reloaded the bow with practiced ease and hopped over the log in pursuit.

"Wait, where are you going?" Glenn said as he stumbled forward, his muscles stiff from inactivity.

"Goin' after it." Daryl darted through the Georgian woods, crossbow held erect in one hand as he ducked under branches and Spanish moss.

"Wait, what? You hit it?" Glenn struggled to keep up as Daryl sped through the thick undergrowth, darting every which way as he followed a trail Glenn couldn't see.

As he ran after the surprisingly fleet-footed hunter his stomach tightened. Maybe this was a bad idea.

* * *

Glenn took his hat off, running a hand through his hair and grimacing as a particularly fat raindrop hit him in the center of his forehead with a loud _thwack. _

"Oh, come on." The small storm clouds that had rolled in had hardly seemed menacing, thus, Glenn hadn't believed Daryl when he said they were in for a big one.

It was a cold rain and harkened the departure of summer. Glenn pulled his arms around himself as he considered what life would be like come winter. He hadn't even thought this mess would last that long but it was becoming apparent that this was pretty damn permanent.

He shivered slightly, watching Daryl as he traced his fingers over the mud and pulled at twigs and leaves. What he was doing he had no idea.

He didn't particularly care as long as Daryl's attention was focused anywhere but himself.

The deer had eluded them and Daryl hadn't been happy. He had whipped around with a growl and Glenn stumbled backwards, tripping over a root and falling hard on his ass.

"You're either deaf or just plain dumb, I told you to stay quiet!" He had yelled, standing over him menacingly. For the second time Glenn found himself stuttering.

When he had volunteered to go with Daryl, Rick had given him a pointed look and said, 'Just be careful, okay? Don't do or say anything stupid.'

He had found that peculiar before. Now, not so much.

They all knew Daryl was a survivor; that if anyone could go out for days at a time, alone, in the woods and with just a hunting knife, it was him. They also knew, however, that he was incredibly hotheaded and that if he was the one calling the shots, things might go a little differently than they would at camp.

Rick had let him go, however, so Glenn was fairly confident that they trusted Daryl enough not to kill him.

Glenn had muttered several more 'sorrys' and to his relief, Daryl backed down and turned his attention to the now swamped and muddied trail left by the buck.

"It's like ya'll don't want to survive." Glenn looked over at where Daryl was currently crouched in complete disbelief.

"What? What d'you mean? Of course we want to survive…"

Daryl stood and began walking forward, his boots making a sloshing noise as they stuck to the mud. He was soaked to the bone and covered in mud but didn't seem to take any notice.

Glenn extracted himself from the ground and hurried forward, not exactly wanting to be left alone to fend for himself – he was already turned around after their run through the woods.

"Ya'll have a fish fry when you know those things can smell you from miles off, y' don't burn the infected," Glenn furrowed his brow, wondering where he was going with this, "y' let that girl turn instead of puttin' her down – it's like ya'll are askin' for it."

Glenn couldn't help but feel a rush of anger at Daryl's almost nonchalance concerning the matter.

"That _girl_ … her name was Amy. You might not care but the rest of us do. And excuse us for trying to preserve some humanity." Daryl huffed but continued onwards.

"Humanity has nothin' to do with survivin'. It's only a matter of time …" Glenn closed the gap between himself and Daryl in a few short, angry steps.

"We don't want to just survive!" Glenn shouted. He didn't know why he was getting so worked up but he couldn't help it. He was tired of the constant moral tug-of-war they were always playing. He was tired of death and just trying to get by. He was tired of the tenuous relationships within the group.

Daryl was watching him, squinting through the rain. Above them the clouds swirled, letting loose the low grumble of thunder.

Glenn swallowed heavily; he didn't know what he expected Daryl to say. Of all the people in their group, Daryl was the least likely to delve into the philosophical or the 'whys' and 'whens' and 'whats' of their new lives. He accepted and moved on, unfettered by the rules and laws associated with the pre-apocalyptic life.

Glenn would never admit it out loud but he was envious of this trait.

"If there's no humanity, we're – we're no different from them." He pointed out into the wilderness, out at nothing, but there was no question to what 'them' meant.

"What's the point of just surviving?"

Glenn was breathing heavily as he awaited an answer. Dale would say something thought provoking. Rick would promise him a future. Shane would tell him not to think about it.

Daryl seemed to be considering his outburst. Glenn watched as something unnamable flashed across his features, coming and going before he could even begin to figure it out.

"Who said there was one?" And with that, Daryl turned away, moving on, as he always did.

Glenn didn't move. It was the most honest thing he had heard since the world had ended and the implications had his blood running cold.

* * *

It was dusk when Daryl decided they would stop and set up camp for the night. He had lost the trail during the storm. The rain had washed away the any prints and spots of blood and the wind had broken enough branches to make the trail unreliable.

He shook his head as he set his crossbow against a log, taking a seat on the damp ground.

He had lined up the shot perfectly. It would've been clean, a quick severance of the jugular vein. It would have bled out fairly quickly and it would've only taken one or two arrows to the flank to bring it down permanently.

Would have.

Daryl was pissed, that much was true. The kid had cost them an easy kill and now, if they could find the damn buck, they would have to drag it across twice the distance.

He figured they could catch the trail again come first light. His arrow had found a place just behind the buck's right shoulder – not a kill shot or extremely debilitating but enough to slow it down and leave a neat little blood trail to follow.

Across from him Glenn twisted miserably, trying to find some way to make his damp clothes comfortable as the chill of the night bit into them.

He had looked simply miserable when Daryl called a halt to their hunt. It didn't compare to the misery; however, when Daryl told him they wouldn't be building a fire.

Sure it was cold, almost freezing – even Daryl fought the urge to shiver as his own damp clothes clung to his body – but starting a fire would only alert the buck to their presence as well as any other potential prey and any lingering Walkers.

"You never start a fire when you hunt?" Glenn shivered from his place against the tree.

"No, an' I don't usually bring dead weight with me either." Glenn shook his head and looked away as Daryl pulled the crossbow into his lap, settling down for the night.

"I said I was sorry about that. It was an accident." Glenn was getting tired of feeling guilty and he figured his current situation was punishment enough. For a moment he thought about the CDC - hot showers, food, books and, of course, a more amicable and drunk Daryl. Those few, stress free hours in the CDC had probably been the best of his new life.

"Yeah and it don't fix nothin'." Daryl fingered the crossbow in his lap and it seemed as though the matter was closed, for now.

"Whatever." Glenn muttered as he shivered again. He almost wished it was August again – hot and sweaty sounded like heaven compare to cold and damp.

He must have looked particularly miserable at that moment because Daryl huffed loudly and stood, kicking up the dirt between them.

"What? What are you doing?"

"What's it look like, buildin' a fire." Daryl turned away to reach under the log, grabbing at dry, soft wood – perfect kindling material.

"I thought you said no fire." Glenn didn't know why he was reminding Daryl of his previous words, he wanted nothing more than to lay directly in s fire pit at this point.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to have to explain to Officer Do-Right why I came back with nothin' because I had to drag your sorry, frozen ass back."

Glenn could barely keep the stupid grin from blossoming on his face. He watched in near giddy excitement as Daryl set down the small mound of kindling and set a stack of sticks to the side.

He felt a stab of dread when he realized they had nothing to start the fire with.

"We didn't bring a lighter." Glenn said, almost forlorn. Glenn had brought his backpack and all it held was a small canteen and a tarp Daryl had extracted from the camper – Daryl hadn't given him time to collect much else and now Glenn was kicking himself for not thinking to bring anything else. He hadn't thought this was going to be an overnight excursion.

In fact, it probably wouldn't have been had he not blown the whole thing from the beginning.

"Don't need one." Daryl said as he pulled a flint stone and striker from his pocket; it was the most beautiful thing Glenn had ever seen.

He watched with no small amount of fascination as Daryl struck the stone until a few small sparks caught the kindling. He pulled the kindling into his hand and blew lightly until it smoked.

"Grab those sticks." He muttered as he nursed the flame and Glenn was quick to do so, eager to redeem himself.

"Stack 'em over that kindling," Glenn made a quick tepee formation with the sticks over the spare kindling and watched as Daryl carefully transferred the flaming bunch from his hands to the ground.

The fire took to the kindling quickly and Glenn sighed as he hovered his hands over the small flame. He had never been more thankful for someone taking pity on him than at that moment, and it had been Daryl of all people.

Daryl slid the small striker set into his pocket and leaned back against the log, crossbow back in his grasp.

"Keep it low." He warned and Glenn nodded.

For the second time that day, Glenn was seeing a completely different Daryl. To his surprise, he was beginning to see where Dixon might be coming from. He didn't know what he had expected of this hunt but it certainly wasn't to gain some insight on their resident redneck.

The guy knew what he was doing. That much was clear. He understood, maybe more so than any of them, what it was going to take to survive this. And despite his track record with the group, he wasn't beyond the occasional altruism.

If he had learned anything thus far it was that Daryl didn't need them – not to survive. He didn't have to be hunting for anyone but himself and yet, he was tracking what had to be the largest deer in Georgia so they could eat.

Glenn regarded the other man over the fire and couldn't help but think that maybe the hotheaded exterior was just as simple and shallow as that.

* * *

Daryl almost felt bad about waking the kid up. Almost. He was curled up next to the fire, almost on top of it and looked a little worse for wear. He really didn't know how these people expected to survive – once the gas and food ran out they were finished.

He rubbed his eyes and reached down to reload his bow, the action sending warmth back into his freezing limbs.

He had slept maybe two hours, but he was used to that on a hunt. He had spent most of the night alert, watching for any signs of the injured buck or walkers. Usually he wouldn't have been as concerned about a stray walker but he wasn't alone this time.

He stamped out the embers of the small, pitiful fire. Next time he would drag the damn thing back himself. He didn't like this new sense of responsibility – it didn't suit him one bit.

He kicked Glenn's boot and bit back a grin when the younger man let out a shocked yelp.

"'S time to go. Get up." Glenn blinked up at him groggily.

"Huh? It's not even light out."

"You wanna eat ever?" Glenn grumbled loudly, and got to his feet, groaning as he stretched out his sore, stiff limbs.

"How'r we gonna find it?" He slurred as he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Spotted some blood over there." Daryl pointed towards the East. He had woken up hours earlier, once the rain had died down, to search for fresh blood. Once the storm passed the sky had become clear, the moon casting enough light to aid him in his search, He was rewarded when he found a glistening spot of crimson, dripping from the fronds of a fern.

"Got a solid hit to the shoulder. They lie down after a while when you tag 'em like that. Shouldn't be too far from here." Glenn nodded, not sure what else to do, and hoped that Daryl was right. At this point he had no reason to believe otherwise.

The sun finally rose above the tree line and with it the trail became more pronounced. Daryl moved swiftly but quietly and Glenn did his best to do the same until he threw up a hand, signaling him to stop.

Daryl pointed at something, ducking low. Glenn followed his gaze, squinting through the thick foliage until he spotted something brown – barely noticeable in the dense Georgia bush.

The Dixon brother crawled slowly forward, his crossbow raised.

The deer was lying down, just as he had predicted, and was panting heavily. The arrow's shaft was sticking sharply out from the buck's shoulder and its fur was matted with blood and dirt.

It was exhausted and one arrow to the throat would end it. Daryl glanced backwards at Glenn and gave him a look that clearly said, 'don't fuck this up.'

He inched forward and carefully squeezed the trigger.

The arrow flew through the air with a short whistle and a moment later it was buried deep in the deer's throat.

It bucked for a moment, attempting to stand, and then fell forward.

"You got it." Glenn said unnecessarily from the ground. The prospect of fresh meat had just become a reality and his energy had returned. He couldn't contain the excited whoop as he lurched forward to join the hunter, standing over the dying buck.

His excitement was short lived, however, when Daryl unsheathed his knife and quickly cut the dying animals throat.

"Oh god …" Glenn turned away, his stomach rebelling against the sight.

"Hey, none of that," Glenn said as he made quick work of the deer, cutting it's stomach open with a quick slash allowing the innards to fall out, "Gotta dress it quick – the smell will attract predators and we need to salvage what we can."

Glenn's stomach flip flopped violently as Daryl cut through the spine with practiced ease, severing the head.

"You've got to be kidding." Glenn mumbled as blood stained the ground and the smell of fresh guts became unbearable.

He heard a snap and he glanced over to see Daryl cut the deer's legs off at the joints. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it. No wonder he was such an efficient killer when it came to walkers.

"Here, pull here." Daryl was gesturing towards the neck stump and Glenn did as he was told, digging his fingers into the muscle. He tried to ignore the cracking sound Daryl's blade made as he sawed through the spine.

It was slow work but eventually they had a bisected deer carcass.

Daryl dragged the back of his hand across his forward, wiping away the sweat of his hard labor. Butchering in the field wasn't easy and with the threat of walkers and the possible cougar he wanted to make quick work of it.

"Alright. Not bad." Daryl said as he stood over his work trying to ignore the hunched over form of Glenn, his face a sickly shade of green.

"It ain't too heavy, should make it back to camp by dusk." He offered. Glenn could only nod as anything else made him feel uncomfortably close to vomiting.

Daryl dug through Glenn's backpack, pulling out the large, blue tarp. He lay one bisection on the tarp, folded it and then lay the second half on top before wrapping it around once more.

"That should do 'till we get it back to camp." Daryl swung the crossbow onto his back and signaled Glenn over. They had to get moving. They didn't want to get caught out there at night with a fresh carcass – not only was a beacon for walkers, it was also prone to spoil.

"C'mon. We don't got all day."

* * *

The buck was heavy – heavy enough to have warranted another's help. Behind him, Glenn shifted the tarp on his shoulder, huffing as they crossed a small brook.

The going was slow; the carcass slid around within the tarp, threatening to fall from either end (mostly Glenn's) and they had to stop multiple times to readjust. He couldn't help but dwell on how much easier this would be with Merle; together they were an efficient team – field dressings were nothing and a single buck had never been a problem before.

Daryl had to give Glenn some credit; he hadn't complained when the blood caught in the tarp dribbled onto his shoulder or about the pace he had set (uncomfortably fast). He had only thrown up once.

Daryl didn't think much of the survival abilities of the others, but if he had to place bets, he figured Glenn would stick around for a while. He had proven he could handle himself in the city and it would be a lie if he said he had been completely useless during their hunt. He had a lot to learn, but Glenn would make it.

Rick, too. He had that indestructible quality about him and he suspected Shane was a real tough son of a bitch to kill.

The others … Geek fodder in his opinion. At least if they kept going the way they were. It wasn't like he wanted to see these people killed, contrary to the belief of some; he just didn't have high expectations. Expectations had you looking to a future that didn't exist. Expectations got you killed.

He couldn't afford to expect much out of these people.

They walked for another hour before he called for a break. Glenn was wheezing behind him and he was beginning to feel his lack of sleep catching up to him.

"How far do you think we are?" Glenn said from the ground onto which he had so gracelessly collapsed.

Daryl surveyed the land, looking for anything he recognized and did a quick estimate.

"Two hours at most." Glenn looked moderately pleased as he dug out a knot in his shoulder.

"I don't care what Rick says, we are having a feast tonight."

Daryl checked the buck meat, watching for any signs of rot; no maggots, no discoloration. It was holding just fine and it looked it was going to make it.

"Maybe Dale will let us use some of his spices." Glenn smiled, fighting the urge to lick his lips.

Far off in the distance, something snapped and Daryl stood.

"And salted jerky. They are going to freak." Glenn hadn't seemed to notice and Daryl was inclined to think his mind was fried, that maybe he was a little over-tired …

Daryl froze as his eyes caught movement.

"We haven't had real food since the CDC …" Daryl lunged forward, his hand landing tightly over his mouth. Glenn bucked, his eyes wide in fear as he tried to force Daryl's weight from on top of him.

"Shh." Daryl hissed as he looked to his right.

Glenn followed his gaze, eyes wide in terror as he spotted the four Walkers making their way steadily towards them.

* * *

Thus ends the first installment of Daryl and Glenn's Fantastic Adventure. I didn't intend it as slash but hey, I can't stop you from reading it that way!

I hope you enjoyed and if you have a moment, reviews are always very welcome! Help the WD fandom by reviewing! We need more ficage, inspire those authors!

The next chapter to 'The Day the World Went Away' will be up this week – this just wouldn't leave me alone. Hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays my friends. Brains!


	2. A Lesson in Survival of the Fittest

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to THE man, Kirkman and Mr. Darabont – I am wildly jealous.  
**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you were all so kind and I am happy you all enjoyed it! Thank you for taking the time, my friends! To Reader's Muse: 1:0, touché – and thanks for your Canadian sage advice.

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The Laws of Unnatural Selection:  
_A Lesson in Survival of the Fittest_

* * *

"_Shh." Daryl hissed as he looked to his right._

_Glenn followed his gaze, eyes wide in terror as he spotted the four Walkers making their way steadily towards them._

Glenn nearly willed himself to sink into the ground, even as Daryl removed his hand and hovered over him, watching the movement of the Walkers.

"They can smell the deer." Daryl whispered as he glanced over at the tarp of meat lying where they had dropped it, a mere three feet from them. "'S what attracted 'em."

"Did they see us?" Glenn hissed, fighting to get control of his breathing.

Glenn watched Daryl carefully as he squinted, watching their movement carefully, his keen eyes looking for signs that they had been spotted. The Walkers were sniffing the air, their cloudy eyes scanning the forest as they stumbled loudly over fallen branches. They had been hunters, the fact made clear by their reflective vests and full camouflage gear.

"No, don't think so." Daryl backed up in a low crouch as Glenn rolled onto his stomach and then to his knees. They quietly moved backwards behind the cover of a thorny bush as the Geeks continued their confident forward march.

One was obscenely large, his gut still distended even after months of internal decay. His skull shone through the patches of the skin still remaining on his head, appearing as though it had simply slipped off as sinew and connective tissue festered. His jaw opened and closed as it took in the smell of freshly butchered meats; it's eyes darting around in a frenzied search.

The other three were of more manageable sizes but were no less threatening. The one closest to the largest Walker had been a lithe man, athletic, probably and moved quickly despite the clear decay in it's muscles. His eyes were red from blood vessels that had burst long ago. One, Daryl realized, was a woman – a blonde ponytail drooped from the top of her bloody head and one arm hung limply, nearly severed but held to the body by a single ligament. The last was the smallest, a kid, maybe sixteen; Daryl could just make out a small pistol attached to the belt on his rotting hip.

"What d'we do? Ditch the meat?" Glenn said in a low voice as he looked between the tarp and the Walkers. His fear had overridden any sense of hunger and it seemed a small price to pay to be ride of the bastards. "Maybe we can go around them?"

Glenn watched his hunting companion carefully. If he hadn't been so damn freaked he would've shaken the man for an answer. His heart was hammering in his chest, screaming at him to make a decision, to run until he got back to camp.

But Daryl, he looked as though he were weighing their options. Glenn didn't know how many they could have at this time …

"No, we need the meat." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and pulled the crossbow of his back and into his hands. "Not lettin' another one of them bastards get my deer."

"Are you crazy? They'll be distracted, we can sneak around …" Glenn watched Daryl as he placed an arrow in it's position on the crossbow.

"I can put down at least two before they get too close." Daryl ducks deeper down as the largest Walker stops to sniff the air, looking remarkably like an animal. It is clear they have pinpointed the source of the meat and they begin to make a fast stride forwards.

"What about me?" Glenn is a little concerned. The Walkers are uncomfortably close and Daryl is lining up the shot. Glenn hadn't even a pistol with him. He had been cramming the tarp into his pack when he put the pistol down on his sleeping bag – Lori had poked her head in to offer some well-meaning advice and he had abruptly stood, shouldered the pack and left the tent. He still wasn't used to carrying a firearm and he knew Rick would have a long lecture prepared for him.

Daryl looks at him like he's a complete idiot and maybe it's true because he had in fact forgotten to bring a weapon. He doesn't say anything, though. Just huffs and pulls his knife from his belt.

"Hold it like this," He holds the blade in his hand, the butt at his thumb and the blade tracing his wrist in a reverse grip with it's edge pointing away from his body, "keep it close, don't jab. Stabbin' 'em ain't gonna do nothin'. Try to sever if you can."

Glenn doesn't know when hunting training turned into combat training but he is grateful for the crash course. He had experience with baseball bats, shoguns and pistols but had yet to try a knife and frankly, he wasn't about to make his weapon of choice. Too close. Too messy. Too many opportunities to get bit.

But that was all he had and he'd have to do his best with it.

Daryl was watching him and Glenn realized he was waiting for him to give some sort of signal that he was ready. Glenn nodded, licking his lips and mopping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Daryl gave his own short nod and realigned his shot.

A millisecond later there was that _twang_, the one Glenn had come to associate with their resident redneck, and then the sound of crunching bones and that sickly, squishing sound of blood and flesh.

The Walker fell a foot from the deer; it's hand outstretched, desperate, even in second death.

The remaining three Walkers groaned and grumbled as their whitened, rotting eyes scanned the area, searching for the source of the arrow and the now very noticeable scent of fresh, living meat.

Daryl had his bow on the ground and was pulling up the thick string until it clicked in place.

Glenn peered around the tree and felt his breath catch as he made eye contact with one of them, the dark face setting into a deep and dangerous snarl as it stumbled forward with uncomfortable speed.

The others followed suite and Glenn pushed himself back behind the cover of the slim tree.

"Umm, they spotted us." He says; knife held tight in his hand. Daryl is reloading the bow and brings it back up into his arms.

"Ready, kid?" Daryl says and Glenn can only give a small, nervous smile as the hunter releases the last bolt. It lodges deeply into the female Walker's forehead.

The other two are too close for Daryl to reload and the man jumps forward, holding the crossbow like a bat. The things heavy, Glenn thinks, it should do the job.

Glenn turns the opposite way as Daryl, rounding the tree and nearly falls backwards. The damn thing was upon him, having moved out of line of sight behind the trees, and was close enough to grab at his shirt.

His senses are flooded as the smell of decay and pus hits him like a brick wall. He takes a moment to glance over at Daryl who is mid swing, his crossbow catching the Walker's face but not immediately sending him to the ground.

Glenn stumbles backwards as the Walker continues to grope the air, trying to catch him and missing by margins small enough to make Glenn a little more than concerned over how he was going to pull this off.

He fights the urge to readjust the blade. It feels awkward this way and he wants to make quick, stabbing motions, exactly what Daryl told him _not_ to do.

He whips the blade out, in the same manner Daryl told him to, and the motion feels swift and steady. Reliable.

He is more than surprised when a torrent of blood splashes onto his shirt and he realizes he has caught the Walkers hand, slicing off all the fingers save the thumb.

This isn't a regular opponent, however, and Glenn can't waste anytime feeling pride. The Walker doesn't so much as flinch and continues his steady strut forward.

"Shit, shit, shit …" He mutters as he continues his back tracking, slashing out again but missing this time.

He can hear the sound of metal against flesh and he imagines Daryl is beating that other Walker's brain in with great prejudice.

If only he were having such an easy time of it.

Another slash and intestines split onto the ground and he is reminded of that time in Atlanta with Rick – he had been amongst hundreds, unarmed that time, why was this so uncomfortably horrifying then?

"Hold your ground, kid!" Daryl shouts over his shoulder as he finishes up and Glenn manages a disbelieving 'wha-?' because there is no way the other man had just non-chalantly delivered battle advice as he struggled to not get killed.

As much as he wants to follow the hunter's advice his body won't obey. Standing still sounds very much like a death wish and he continues backtracking, slashing as he goes before eventually tripping over his feet.

The Walker leans over him and Glenn kicks out, his foot effectively keeping the Walker from finding purchase but does not deter the mess of blood and guts from leaning over, mouth agape and hungry.

"Daryl!" He tries, hoping to see the business end of the arrow sticking out of the Geek's forehead. Any second now …

With a growl, something guttural and real and completely unexpected, he decides he's had enough – has had enough of not being able to sleep because of these bastards, tired of fearing for everyone on the camp, tired of things, _former people_, trying to eat him – and his arm comes across in a right hook, blade meeting flesh and bone and sinew, digging deep into the neck of the Walker.

More blood splashes his shirt and his gag reflex is abnormally quiet as the Walker's head tilts backward, held on by a single strand of flesh and a millimeter of spinal column.

Glenn is panting, his breath coming out in short gasps as he kicks the thing away, stumbling once before standing. The Walker is twitching, it's teeth gnashing, and completely unaware of it's near decapitation. The body spasms for a moment more and then is silent, the last of the neural commands having been spent. The mouth continues to open and close, desperate for flesh.

"Not bad." Daryl says from his place a few feet away. His crossbow has been reloaded and he was in the perfect position to take the Walker out with an easy bolt to the head. Had he just been _watching?_

"Why didn't," He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart down and to release the death grip he had on the bloody knife, "Why didn't you help?"

"Can't fight all your battles for you, can I?" Glenn can't believe it. Just when he starts to think that maybe this guy isn't as big of a dick as everyone thinks he goes and watches, just fucking watches, as he is nearly eaten alive.

"You've got to be kidding me," his voice cracks a bit as the adrenaline wears off, "I could've been killed, man!"

The Walker's head is still gnashing it's teeth, rolling slightly on the floor but he doesn't give a damn, he's far to pissed to think about finishing the thing off.

"If I thought y' couldn't handle yourself then I would've put the bastard down myself." Glenn bends over, his hands on his knees. He'd never been in such close, 'personal' combat with a Walker before – it had always been from a distance or from the far end of a bat, a weapon that felt large and confident in your hand.

"Y' did good with the knife." Daryl turns his back to him and walks over to collect the arrows lodged deep in heads of the two Walkers. Everything is covered in blood; his clothing, arrows, crossbow, arms, shirt, there's even smatterings of blood on his face.

"But I'm startin' to really wonder whether you really are deaf or stupid, maybe both" he repeats the words he had said the day before – Glenn never got tired of being called stupid, after all, "I told you to stand your ground. It wouldn't have gotten the upperhand if y' had jus' gone for the neck right away. Stupid mistake."

Daryl grunts as if slaying Walkers is the most natural, ingrained thing in the world.

Glenn shakes his head trying to process things. First he doesn't help him, then he kind of compliments him and then he's back to admonishing him.

Then it clicks.

Daryl was training him.

The thought felt weird as it bounced around his mind. He _had_, after all, been standing ready to shoot the Walker and had pretty much admitted he intended to do so if things had gotten out of control, but still …

It was a hell of a learning curve, if Glenn were concerned. But then again, this was a do or die world.

And it made sense, too.

There was a reason Daryl was still alive, why taking on three Walkers alone was like a walk through the freaking park. The man knew what he was doing, knew how to take them down in the most efficient way possible – it was Daryl, after all, that had informed everyone that, to kill a Walker, it had to be the brain.

He watches as the man returns the bloody arrows to the frontload quiver and wipes what grime he can from his face with his bandana. He sniffs and pulls the crossbow up – Glenn had almost forgotten about the head on the forest floor, despite it's noisy protests.

"Wait," He says, hand held out. He is quick to explain because Daryl looks as though he's about to call him stupid again, "can I – let me do it."

He wants to finish the job. Claim his kill. He mentally laughs at himself for the primal, stupid thought but he can't help it. He feels like he just passed some crazy fucking test and that this was the final task.

Daryl squints at him, a thoughtful thing, before handing the heavy weapon over.

Like the knife, the crossbow feels extremely out of place and he can't help but notice that the handholds are warm, almost as though the damn thing were part of Daryl.

It's a heavy and awkward weapon, but he figures that's probably because he's never used one before. He lifts it up, mimicking what he has seen Daryl do so many times, and aims for the head – it's a huge target and he can't imagine missing, _that_ would be emasculating on so many levels.

He pulls the trigger – it takes more pressure than he expected – and with a twang and a whoosh the arrow is propelled into the Dead's forehead. It's teething stops immediately.

For some reason Glenn can't stop staring. He had never put one down this way before. It had always been in passing, while on the run or as a group effort and with little more intention than to disable long enough to get away. He usually just swung away until bat met flesh or aimed for the general vicinity of the Walker's face and shot, not even bothering to watch as bits of brain and skull showered the landscape.

"That meat ain't gonna hold much longer." Glenn's head snaps up and hell he almost forgot he wasn't alone. Glenn nods and he can't help but take notice of how dry his mouth feels.

Daryl reaches over and retrieves the arrow and then the crossbow, stealing it from Glenn's grasp.

Glenn remembers the buck knife, still in his hand. He had kept a hold on it even when using the crossbow, and a part of him didn't want to give it up; nothing had ever felt so reassuring. Not even the wallet he kept in his pocket or the weight of a shotgun.

With some hesitation he held the knife out, hilt facing its original owner.

"Thanks." Was all he could manage. Before Glenn can process what is happening Daryl is unclipping the belt sheath and handing it over.

"Hold onto it. Y' ain't worth a damn to me dead and that deer ain't getting' back to camp itself." He says gruffly before turning away. "Let's go."

Glenn knows he looks like an idiot, standing there with a mile-wide grin, holding the sheath and knife in his hands, but he can't help it.

* * *

Rick Grimes has always been the type to worry. He had always been worse than Lori, even. He had worried about how Carl was getting along in school, if he was making friends, if he was being bullied. He had worried about his failing relationship with his wife, whether he could ever please her again, whether they'd be together the next week or month or year.

He knew it was pointless to worry, that nothing ever came of it, but it was in his nature. He often worried about others, far too much, when he should be worried about his family. Now especially was not the time for it – if there was a time to be present and not worry it was during times like these because getting preoccupied with mindless worrying would get you killed.

Still, that didn't stop him from wondering if Carl would ever get to sleep without nightmares again, or if tomorrow they'd have food and water and about what would happen when they ran out of gas and ammo.

It was no wonder, then, that when his 'hunting party' had failed to return by the afternoon of the second day, he was understandably concerned.

He knew from experience that Daryl disappeared, came and went, as he pleased. The longest stint had been for three days and he'd thought nothing of it.

Now was different, however. Now he had Glenn with him. He didn't know how that changed things – actually that was a lie he told himself, he knew exactly how that changed things. He just didn't like admitting it.

He tried to convince himself that Daryl, for all his faults, wouldn't purposely put any member of their group in harms way. He tried but with each passing hour he grew more concerned.

"Anything, Dale?" He finished his quick sentry of the camp and headed towards the camper, calling out the man sitting on top it's roof. It was dusk with maybe half an hour of day left and the temperature was dropping.

"No sign yet, Rick. Don't worry, though, I'll keep an eye out and let you know." The older man gave him a smile and continued to look through his binoculars, allowing his rifle to rest across his lap.

Rick could only smile back and nod.

He rounded the fire and took a seat next to Lori, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hands deftly stitched up a hole in a pair of jeans. She looked up as he approached and gave him a short smile.

"Good evening, Officer." She said in a low, coy voice.

"Good evening." He answered, distracted. "Where's Carl?"

She gave him a warm look, one she reserved for when she knew he needed someone to calm his worried mind.

"Sleeping. He had a stomach ache." Rick nodded, his eyes shifting from her hands to their shared tent.

"Yeah, hasn't had anything to eat besides those crackers Dale dug out from his pantry." To say they were low on food was an understatement.

That morning Dale had discovered a single sleeve of half crushed Saltine crackers and they had all treated it like a feast, savoring each cracker and crumb, making them last the entire morning. All it had really done was fuel their hunger and the camp drudged on slowly after that. No one had the energy to do much more than basic chores.

"It's getting late." Rick said looking over at Lori, his eyes searching.

"They'll be back." She said simply, as though it was that simple and maybe it was.

"If they're not back tomorrow, Shane and I – " Lori looked up at him, her eyes sharp with a hint of warning.

"Rick," She paused. She knew her husband very well and knew that once and idea came to him, once that need for action took him he was very hard to stop. She also knew how to handle him and when she herself should actually start to worry, "Give them another day, then you can go do what you need to do."

Rick swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he nodded, looking back towards the fire. He exhaled and scraped a hand over his face.

He was just so exhausted.

* * *

They were running. The sun was nearly gone from the sky and Daryl knew the meat wouldn't hold much longer. They couldn't hold off any longer, couldn't wait another night and though he knew he'd be paying for it later, they couldn't risk any more breaks.

His back and shoulders ached something fierce and his arm was nearly numb as he clasped the tarp so tightly his hand was turning white.

He reckoned Glenn felt about the same as he had taken up a noticeable limp and was muttering under his breath; what it was he couldn't tell and frankly, didn't care.

He knew they were close, very close. He managed to say so at some point and Glenn had choked out a small 'oh thank God.'

He could smell the smoke from the campfires and just before the sun disappeared behind the tree line, sending them into twilight, he could hear voices and the shuffling of feet. It wasn't until then that he allowed them to slow to a walk – charging into camp like madmen would probably get them killed.

"Civilization." Glenn sighed as they broke through the tree line bordering the campgrounds.

Daryl could feel the backend of their precious cargo faltering and he hitched it higher. The kid was dead on his feet, there was no doubt about that, but he wasn't going to let him drop the damn thing, it was only a hundred more feet.

"Ah, the hunters return!" Dale was approaching them, that usual quirky smile on his face. He must have spotted them from the camper and alerted the others because everyone was popping there heads out to see, the question of whether it had been a successful hunt on all of their minds.

Rick, as usual, wasn't far behind and was the second to welcome them back to camp. He got one look at them and frowned. They must've looked particularly bad because even Dale quirked an eyebrow as they got closer.

"What – What happened?" He said as they continued towards the fire. Daryl snorted thinking it was terribly obvious.

"Ran into some trouble." He huffed from exertion, he was fit and all but damn, that run had done a number on him.

He made it to the fire, not even noticing the gathering crowd, every member salivating as he unfurled the tarp, the meat looking absolutely succulent in the light of the fire.

Rick turned to Glenn, confident that if he was going to get the full story it wouldn't be coming from Daryl.

"Walkers. Four of them." He panted. He wanted nothing more than to just collapse and never get up again. He looked up and winced. "I forgot my gun."

"Yeah, I noticed." Rick said in a manner that was neither forgiving nor admonishing.

"Well never mind that," Dale said as he rounded the deer meat, "Look what they brought back. Just how much is this, Daryl?"

Daryl had been ignoring the others, mainly out of pure fatigue and the fact that he needed to get this meat strung up, and it was the first thing he heard that was worth responding too.

He stood, his back cracking painfully, and rubbed at his eyes, regarding the meat.

"A hundred pounds, maybe." The others murmured in excitement – if they could smoke most of it they would have enough for weeks to come …

"It was huge," Glenn offered from his place at the fire. He had taken a place next to Lori who looked as excited about the prospect of the meal as the rest of them, "and really heavy."

Daryl had taken to putting stones over the embers, preparing to cook some of the meat and he felt the eyes of the camp on him, boring into him as he tried to work.

Their excitement was tangible and they all moved to prepare themselves for dinner, gathering more wood and retrieving their almost forgotten eating utensils. Carol brought over a large basin of water, setting it down next to Daryl who gave her a quiet nod of thanks. Rick put some wood down next to the fire before retreating to the camper to wake Carl.

Daryl looked around, searching for suitable rocks to add to the fire.

The Morales family had had a portable stove grate, something that had proved extremely useful but with their departure went the treasured cooking item. Daryl would have to settle for an impromptu stone grill.

"Dale, do you have any salt, or rubs? Anything like that?" Glenn asked hopefully from the fireside. Venison sounded great but salted venison, with a hint of a BBQ-sauce sounded like absolute food porn at this stage. Glenn's mouth was watering copiously, so much so that his salivary glands actually _hurt_.

"I should have something." Dale huffed in excitement as he turned to head to the camper, a spring in his step, "Let me take a –"

"Sorry, everyone." A familiar but previously absent voice sounded from behind Daryl's turned back and he immediately recognized the dour tone. Shane. "We can't cook that now."

The man pulled at the brim of his hat and had a shotgun slung over a shoulder.

"Not tonight, we don't want a repeat of last time." The camp went silent, they certainly didn't need a reminder of what had happened; no one could forget that night.

Lori stared icily at him from over the campfire. You could nearly _hear_ everyone's hopes for one good meal shattering.

"Well that ain't happening." Daryl snorted with purpose from his place above the deer. "We'll just have to keep a better watch this time."

The tension rose immediately. Glenn swallowed from his place at the log and Lori's eyes met Rick's.

"Go back inside." Rick whispered to Carl as he stepped down from the steps and approached the fire.

Shane had become more and more volatile as the days went on and with his increasingly bad temper came an increasingly shorter fuse.

Rick held a hand out as Shane took a step forward, towering, for a moment, over the hunter as he continued to build a more suitable cooking pit.

"A better watch?" Daryl recognized that tone and stood to Shane's level not about to allow the man literally talk down at him. "What happened last time happened because you took three of our men with you on a suicide mission to Atlanta to get someone who well deserved what was comin' to him."

Shane's voice was low and dangerous, daring the man in front of him to challenge him, the rifle still held stiffly on his shoulder.

"Shane – "Rick said carefully not liking where this was going. Mentioning Merle was a camp taboo and best left alone.

The whole camp shifted nervously; Carol stood at the door of her tent, Sophia held protectively beside her, two plates dangling forgotten in her hand. Andrea, who had been watching Carl in the camper, was stationed in the vehicle's doorway, her eyes meeting Dale's as they both anticipated the worst.

Daryl felt the familiar rush of anger as he glared at Shane, shifting his weight as he stepped forward. He took a deep breath, fully intending to remind him of why they had to go back in the first place when there was a loud 'pop', the sound of the crackling fire reminding him of why this had started in the first place.

He exhaled and shook his head.

"It won't hold 'till tomorrow. We either cook it tonight or throw it to the Geeks – then you can get your own damn dinner." Daryl huffed. If the meat went bad because they refused to increase the sentry duty he figured they could get their own damn food from there on.

"Survive or don't survive. It's your choice."

Shane was fuming but Daryl didn't so much as blink. Covered in blood and grime he looked an intimidating sight.

"Maybe he's right, Shane." Daryl's head whipped around and Shane looked over, his eyes flint like, as Lori calmly regarded the two men. Daryl couldn't believe it. Him and Lori weren't exactly cordial with one another so her backing was somewhat unexpected.

"No. No, it's already night and we can't risk any Walkers catching the scent – "

"Yes, but you heard so yourself, we can't let good meat go to waste. We'll keep to one fire and put two people on watch – I'll take the first one." Dale smiled carefully.

Back in the beginning, when they had all just met and they still tiptoed around each other as strangers, Dale worried most about the Dixon brothers. They were volatile and loud, disturbingly cavalier and unconcerned. On the opposite side was Shane. Dale saw him to be a strong leader, capable of making the necessary decisions. He never thought he would worry about this man, of all people. But here he was, his stomach knotting as he watched another crack appear in the man's constitution.

They needed to walk away from this civilly; the man's sanity was depending on it.

"Me too." Said Andrea, her voice steady and understanding of the moment. If Andrea, the woman who had lost everything in the last attack, was up for it than that should be enough to convince Shane. "It will be fine."

"We need to eat, Shane. We need the food. We'll just have to be careful." Rick said gently. All hopes of Shane accepting the fact that he was being outvoted vanished as the other man shook his head with a short laugh.

"You're serious?" He huffed another laugh and his eyes darted between the members of the camp; he looked wild. He looked, in Daryl's opinion, dangerously unhinged.

"You weren't there, Rick. You don't know what it was like." Rick frowned, his eyes darting to Carl was blearily rubbing his eyes as he watched from the window of the camper.

"You don't know anything about protecting these people." Rick had a bad feeling that this was escalating above a simple debate concerning the game Daryl had brought back.

Shane turned away from Rick and Daryl fought the urge to break the bastards finger as he pointed it as his chest.

"Get rid of it." Daryl fixed him with his own intense gaze before turning back to the fire, giving him a short 'like hell', making it clear that Shane could go fuck himself as he continued to make preparations.

"What? No – " Daryl heard Glenn moan from the log, the younger man's eyes alight with anxiety; fear that the meat they had just worked so hard for was going to be tossed away.

"Shane, you're not thinking clearly. We haven't had anything to eat in days, you just need –" Rick tried, reaching out. Before he could fathom what was happening, Shane pushed him back with a hard shove to the chest.

"Don't tell me what I need." He said fiercely as he took another threatening step forward.

"Rick – " Lori stood, her eyes wide, darting between the armed man and her husband. Shane had a terrible look in his eyes; he looked unfurled, uncontained, as though he could do just about anything …

And Shane knew it. Lori could see the realization on his face as Rick held both hands up in submission and T-Dog and Dale stepped forward, on their guard. Daryl had even taken up his crossbow and was pointing it threateningly at Shane's chest. She could see the anger and fear in his eyes as he realized he had suddenly made himself a threat.

Shane scratched at the back of his head as he took a step back looking almost like a cornered animal.

"Ya'll can protect yourselves tonight." He said sharply before casting a final look past Daryl - it didn't take much of an imagination to figure out just who Shane was _really _talking to as Lori stood and marched over to Rick and her son.

Daryl gave a cursory glance towards Glenn who was dragging his hand through his hair, something he seemingly did when he was nervous.

They hadn't quite expected to return to this and he was fairly sure Glenn had been expecting praise and excitement. This was probably extremely disappointing for him and Daryl could nearly see him beginning to fold in on himself as the social tension within the group wore on him. The kid was too sentimental for his own good.

Daryl sighed.

He might as well put the kid to work to take his mind off it.

"Let's cook us some venison."

* * *

Glenn was in a state of bliss. His stomach was full for the first time in – he couldn't even remember. He popped another piece of venison into his mouth and groaned as it nearly melted on his tongue, the light taste of salt and oil making his taste buds go into overdrive.

The sound of laughter and light conversation filled the camp as the fire crackled sending the pleasant smell of smoke and meat into the air. The mood had improved significantly and it seemed as though the earlier tension had all but melted away.

Glenn can't believe how much good the meal was doing and despite his aching shoulders and the fatigue still settled in his bones he laughs with everyone else when Carl claims it's better than McDonalds.

Rick and Lori are sitting on either side of their son and Rick pats the top of Carl's head as he rips the venison with his teeth, his eyes bright and excited. Andrea is laughing at something Carol is saying, the sound a welcome departure from her more recent solemn mood. T-Dog is moaning from the top of the RV, the sounds almost pornographic, as he savors the meat, chewing slowly and with serious purpose.

Glenn's attention is pulled back to Carl who is addressing him with his arms held far apart.

"Was it bigger than this?" Glenn grinned and nodded, standing and putting his hand at the height of the former buck.

"Yep. This big." Carl and Sophia both mutter a long, child-like 'wow' and smile, clearly trying to imagine such a beast. "Bigger than me almost."

"So," Dale says with a smile as he picks at the bits of venison on his plate, "why don't you two regale us with the story of your hunt."

Everyone is looking at him curiously from over the fire and he suddenly feels shy. He couldn't imagine it sounding too great when he really thought about it. Should he mention how they would have been back hours earlier had he not scared the deer away? How cold and rainy it was? Maybe he should talk about Daryl's impromptu Walker combat lesson …

It turned out he didn't need to worry too much about it because, much to his surprise, Daryl spoke up.

"Kid only threw up once." Glenn shakes his head as everyone laughs. Daryl is sitting at a smaller fire pit a few feet away, stoking the kindling under his tarp covered wood smoker whilst watching the forest for any signs of Walkers.

His participation is completely unexpected and a few heads turn in surprise.

"Yeah, well we can't all be Bear Grylls." The camp exploded with laughter and the only one not in on the joke is Daryl but he manages a grin anyways. "It was a lot like boot camp."

"What about those Walkers you ran into?" Rick says from above his tin cup of water. The weariness from before seems to have faded but his forehead is knit tightly, no doubt from concern over Shane's earlier behavior.

The man had posted himself on the edge of the camp by his Jeep and no one had spoken to him since.

"They smelled the deer. Fresh kill." Daryl offered as he checked the smoking deer meat – he had at least fifty strips up on the teepee formation and an additional 50 pounds smoking in the pit. It was a job that required a lot of attention and care.

"How'd you deal with them?" Rick asked – he knew Daryl was good but four against two, one unarmed, could prove a bit much to handle. He still had to talk to Glenn about keeping a pistol on him at all times …

"Took down two from a distance." Glenn said, not really sure what to say about the other two, namely the one he had the 'pleasure' of dispatching.

"And the other two? Did they just give up and surrender perchance?" Dale chuckled as he leaned back, a hand on his full stomach.

"The kid ain't too bad with a knife," Glenn was slightly relieved he didn't have to mention that himself; Rick wouldn't have exactly approved of Daryl's methods and had Rick been in that position he probably would have had them avoid the Walkers all together. "Isn't that right, Rambo?"

Glenn blushed as the others eyed the sheath still hanging from his belt; it's presence now making more sense. Daryl had needed the knife to cut the meat but had failed to take the sheath back and now Glenn felt silly seeing it empty and dangling from his pant loop.

"Not as efficient as bludgeoning by crossbow – " He trailed off as he took a sip of water. More laughter. He was trying to savor the moment as much as he could and he could feel the fatigue taking over, the combination of a full stomach, the warmth of the fire and a jubilant atmosphere making him more than a little sleepy.

"Well, you outdid yourselves. Truly." Dale lifted his mug in cheers. "To our resident hunters."

"Glenn," he lifted the cup in his direction with a warm smile, "Daryl."

Daryl nodded, lifting his water filled flask slightly, his expression mysteriously unreadable.

The others raised their cups in agreement and the camp settled into a comfortable silence.

The night drew on and the moon had already passed from the highest point in the sky when people began their slow retreats to their sleeping areas. Carol and Sophia were the first to return to their tent; Sophia, by her mother's request, had thanked both Daryl and Glenn sleepily before retiring for the night.

Andrea and Dale offered to take the first watch. Dale clapped Glenn firmly on the back, offering a friendly goodnight before retreating and nodding respectfully to Daryl as he passed the man who was still stubbornly hunched over the smoking pit.

Carl had fallen asleep shortly after the toast, his head on his father's lap and his body still and relaxed. Lori gingerly gathered him up and carried him to the camper, whispering her thanks as Carl's head lolled on her shoulder. Rick stood and stretched, intent on putting an end to this day and catching a few hours of sleep before his turn for watch.

"Thank you, both of you, for what you did." Rick said and damn, Glenn knew it was the most earnest thing he's heard because the man sounds beat and he looks at them as though this is the most serious matter imaginable.

"We needed this, we really did and I can't thank you enough for it." He gives them a sad, tired smile. "We'll cover your watch tonight, get some rest."

Daryl doesn't bother telling him that he'll be up anyway, tending to the smoking meat – he had been able to put most of it up and only lost about 10 pounds to the beginnings of rot. Not too bad at all.

"Oh my God," Glenn sighs from the log he is now leaning back on, stretched comfortably in front of the fire, "that was so worth it."

Daryl nodded in agreement as he poked at a strip of meat, checking to see if it was cooking through and taking to the smoke, as it should.

"Should keep us for a while." Their numbers had decreased significantly; before they were twenty plus strong and now they were down to eleven. From a safety in numbers perspective they were becoming weaker but from a food standpoint they were at a serious advantage.

"Yeah." Glenn murmured as he felt his eyes starting to droop. His body was fast calling it quits.

It had been a long and unusual few days for the both of them. The constant adrenaline had officially faded and their bodies were begging for at least seven straight hours of uninterrupted sleep. If Glenn had it his way it would be twenty hours, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

He wondered briefly if Daryl intended to sleep at all. He cracked an eye open, unaware he had even closed them, and saw him still nursing that damn smoker.

A thought struck him as he eyed the older man.

"Uh, Daryl?" Daryl turned to him, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity, "Thanks for letting me come, and for not- he paused not sure how to word it – not treating me like a kid."

Despite the horrifying encounter with the Walker and the fact that the whole thing had been physically exhausting it had felt good to not be treated like an adult. He knew the others didn't mean it, probably didn't even know they were doing it, but they sometimes treated him like a child, especially Lori.

The whole mind blowing hangover thing at the CDC probably hadn't helped things.

Daryl gave the slightest of nods as he rubbed at his eyes, the smoke and fatigue irritating them.

"Don't thank me yet. Next time I'm really gonna make you work." Daryl said in a 'and-I'm not-kidding' voice.

It could have been in afterthought but Glenn couldn't help but feel the slightest amount of surprise and excitement over the fact that there would be a 'next time.' He felt like he had just received a passing grade in 'Hunting 101' and was told he was graduating to 'Hunting 201 Honors'.

The fire cracked and the smell of smoke wafted towards him in comforting waves. He was vaguely aware of the knife holster weighing at his side, poking him as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

Glenn fell asleep grinning.

* * *

Ok, so this chapter was a bit long but there just wasn't a place I felt was suitable for a cut, so there you have it, a 20-page chapter. I hope I didn't lose any of you to computer induced blindness or sleep.

I intended this to be a bromance (because we need a serious Glenn/Daryl bromance in the show), and I think it still works that way, but it _might_ have gotten a little slashy (thanks a lot Reader's Muse, way to Incept me). I actually originally had a more slashy ending and I am considering it as an epilogue … thoughts? I also inadvertently slipped a Boondock Saints quote in there, whoops.

Thanks again for reading, your support and constructive criticism is very much appreciated!


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